


every time you used an avenger's weapon of choice

by starkau



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Long Mess, A Product of Incessant Daydreaming, F/F, F/M, READER IS BAD! ASS!, You're a badass, a disaster, but all the characters i've thought of so far are listed above, i'm not sure how far i'll get, please read the notes before every chapter, pls enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing!, that i wanted to write one for each avenger, this is VERY NEW TO ME but i wrote a thing where o/c uses steve's shield and liked it so much, what do I even tag this, yes you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkau/pseuds/starkau
Summary: a collection of fics in which an original female character uses an avenger's weapon of choice in some way, whether in combat or for other reasons. note that each character's o/c is supposed to be a different person (so that it's not one girl fraternizing with the whole team), though the usage of "y/n" will be continuous with every chapter.requests & ideas are welcome; just drop a comment.





	every time you used an avenger's weapon of choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the avengers & their newest recruit pursue ulysses klaue at a gala in paris, trying to find him before ultron does. when you find yourself compromised against 14 hostiles, steve lends you his shield.
> 
> set in age of ultron & reader is an avenger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: i did not check the archive warning because all descriptions of violence are only as graphic as the scenes we see in marvel movies. if you are uncomfortable with reading about people being knocked out or shot, reading this chapter is not recommended.

**YESTERDAY. PARIS, FRANCE, 21:04.**

 

 _“Vibranium thief by day, member of the French elite by night,_ ” Clint’s voice comes through in his ear. “ _Are you guys seeing this place? Son of a bitch definitely made his way around town.”_

Steve can all but disagree. The ballroom stands majestic and tall like it’s a monument, its marble walls glowing like a piece of the moon. Being a regular guest at galas like these has to say something about your social stature, which it certainly does for Ulysses Klaue, a self-made millionaire off the vibranium black market he singlehandedly began after smuggling the metal out of Wakanda.

“Bruce, how’re the cameras looking?” Nat’s lips don’t move when she speaks.

“ _They finished loading. I got eyes on all twenty-four of them. Remind me again what I’m looking for.”_

As out of place as Steve feels, he fits right in with one of Tony’s $6,000 suits pressing the life out of his shoulders and Natasha looking like a million times that on his arm. Now that he thinks about it, Steve realizes the earpieces are Tony’s creations too, a piece of plastic that contains a full-fledged F.R.I.D.A.Y. despite its tiny size embedded too far in his ear for anyone to see. He _does_ pay for everything and design everything and make everyone look cooler.

“Klaue knows he’s a wanted man, so he takes his bodyguards everywhere he goes. They’re armed, they won’t socialize much, and they’ll be watching their boss the whole night.” Steve angles his head to Natasha as if he’s talking to her instead of the four other Avengers inside his ear. “For those on the ground, remember that our target is Klaue. If the bodyguards don’t find you, don’t make an effort to find them. We don’t want more trouble than we can handle.”

“So we have Clint in the air and Banner on the keys with Tony, Y/N, you, and me on the ground. We shouldn’t be worried.” Natasha exchanges looks with Steve. “Right?”

He can’t give her an answer he’s sure of. They’re capable of taking on the bodyguards, but there’s a feeling of dread he can’t shake. Any second now he expects to look over his shoulder and see the burning red eyes of Ultron.

The night air stings Steve’s skin as he and Natasha proceed up the set of stairs that lead to the entrance, where a procession of guests are trickling slowly into the building as ushers check off their names by the doors. He runs through it all through one more time. _My name is Malcolm, this is my fiancée Evelyn, and we are attending this gala on behalf of Wakanda’s King T’Challa._

There’s only a small amount of vibranium that’s out of Wakanda, and Ulysses Klaue is the only man in the world who knows the details of its whereabouts; of course, Wakanda took it upon itself to get involved. King T’Challa dropped in a word to the organizers, telling them about the investors that would be there on his behalf and to leave his name off the guest list, and who were they to disobey the king of Wakanda? Hence, T’Challa became the team’s ticket inside. Even from halfway across the world, he proves to be a powerful ally.

It’s crucial that they reach Klaue before Ultron does, but Klaue isn’t exactly hiding, and there’s no doubt in their minds that Ultron is on his way too if he’s not here already. There’s no way this building will be able to contain a confrontation like that, and that’s what makes Steve nervous.

Steve hears two clicks in his ear and an unmistakable clearing of the throat.

“ _Don’t fret, folks, the party’s just pulled up. How are the earpieces?”_

“Not bad.”

“ _I didn’t put in weeks of designing for ‘not bad’. That better be Romanoff for fucking immaculate. We’re all good to go on our end, by the way.”_

“Good,” Steve answers. “You guys got your story straight?”

_“I don’t know. Do we, Y/L/N?”_

_“I’m here as Tony Stark’s date, I don’t speak English very well, and I’m supposed to be some kind of―”_ Comes a familiar voice but an unfamiliar accent. _“―expensive callgirl kind of thing?”_

_“Escort.”_

_“And you couldn’t have gone with something like business partner or distant relative, you had to make it so I give you googly eyes all night and stay constantly draped over you like a damn scarf.”_

_“Business partner would be so complicated. You’d have to make conversation. I’m doing you a solid by avoiding that. And who would believe we’re related? Have you seen yourself?”_ Steve pinches the bridge of his nose as he listens to you and Tony argue, because what else do the two of you ever do? _“Don’t stress. It’ll be fun, sweetheart.”_

Steve realizes the voices aren’t just in the earpiece anymore. He peers over his shoulder to see none other than Tony himself, looking like the billionaire he is in an all-black suit and red-tinted sunglasses. On his arm is a woman in a body-tight, red dress with a slit by the right leg, her hair done up in a way that emphasizes the curve of her jaw and the back of her neck, a light touch of makeup shedding light on the color of her eyes and the shape of her lips.

You, the newest addition to the Avengers, would wear hoodies and leggings all day long if you had the choice. He can’t fathom that you suddenly look so achingly beautiful that you’re something straight out of a movie.

“No, no.” There’s a perfect smile on your face as you whisper the words, but Steve notices your grip on Tony’s arm is white. “You are _not_ calling me that.”

“It’s a nickname,” Tony answers. “It’s cute.”

“I have a name, don’t I?” You mutter. “What am I supposed to be again? French? Give me Sophie. Charlotte. _Something_.”

“You’re not French, and I’m telling you, it’s cute! We have to play this part right.”

“If that's cute, Stark, so is Ultron. You are not calling me sweetheart.”

Steve smothers his smile. It is most definitely still you.

 _“You guys done?”_ Clint comes in, saving the day. _“We don’t have all day.”_

It’s hard to miss the pointed glare you give the billionaire and the small smirk he returns; but you make the smart decision to put the argument on hold. Like a spell is cast, you straighten your back and he clears his throat, the two of you becoming different people from just a change in posture.

You reach out to brush your hand against Steve’s; with a slight shift of your thumb, two cold, small discs are pressed into his palm. Too easily, he receives them both and securely deposits them away, passing it off as a scratch against his chest. He gets a glimpse before they disappear into his breast pocket and comprehends the sight ― his shield, shrunk to the size of a dime, and a blue Pymn Particles disc right next to it.

Scott Lang was telling the truth; he _did_ keep extras.

“Shield delivered,” Steve just barely hears you murmur.

 _“Okay, then hurry this along,”_ Bruce says. _“People might start putting two and two together.”_

Just like that, your hand drops back to your side and Tony are gone, walking with heads close together and arms around each other.

There’s a phosphene in the corner of Steve’s eye that’s exactly where your necklace was, and he can’t seem to get it out of his sight; that, or the hollow above your collarbones, the silky wave of your hair, the intelligent, quiet sharpness in your eyes that he’s always liked — of course, he can’t even _think_ in silence with a superspy next to him. Natasha lifts a hand to her ear, holding a button that briefly mutes herself from everyone.

“I chose her dress,” she mutters. “Pretty good choice, huh?”

Steve looks toward the ground and adjusts his tie. “I don’t know what you‘re talking about.”

“God,” Natasha laughs. “You’re dreadful.”

 _“Look alive,”_ Clint says. _“I think I have eyes on Ulysses Klaue.”_

The conversation dies quickly as the team remembers what they're doing here in the first place. Natasha checks to see if her revolvers are still tucked safely into her thigh holster. Steve takes a deep breath.

 _“Excellent,”_ Tony says. _“Let’s rain all over this fucker’s parade.”_

Steve couldn’t have said it better himself.

 

___________________

 

It’s as extravagant inside as it is out. The air smells like expensive delicacies and strong cologne; accompanying Frank Sinatra in the background is the the _clink_ of glasses of rose-colored champagne and the hum of at least two hundred partygoers.

You have to admit there’s something exhilarating about all of this. Yes, the mission is your top priority, but you’ve never been to a freaking _gala_ ; let alone one in Paris, wearing something that costs triple your current closet — all while pursuing a vibranium thief in a heated race against a peacekeeping program gone wrong.

However you feel about this mission, you do a good job of not letting it show. All you have to do is think how Tony Stark’s high-class call girl date would: sit still, look pretty, and don’t make too much intelligent conversation.

So far, so good.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., mute. I paid for your dress,” Tony mutters in your ear. “You owe me a few words of thanks. So does the senior citizen.”

“What?” You breathe.

“You didn’t see the look on his face, did you?” Tony lightly drops his empty wine glass onto a passing waiter’s tray. “Y/N, sometimes I wonder if you pretend not to notice or if you’ve really reached that level of complete oblivion.”

For the record, you _haven’t_ reached that level of oblivion, but you’d really rather not talk about this right now. Yet, that tiny mention of the captain is all it takes to set off a giddy, ridiculous flutter in your stomach — you start to wish you took one of those wine glasses on your way in.

A man suddenly bumps into you, hard enough so you forget what you’re about to say to Tony. Staying in character, you gasp and snatch the train of your dress off the floor. Tony’s eyebrows plummet and he turns the both of you around to face the man who did it —

 _“Hm,”_ Bruce hums in your ear. _“Eyes up. We got a bodyguard.”_

“Damn.” It’s a very tall, very broad man with coarse facial hair and a sincere smile. He reaches out to steady you. “I had a glass too many and now I’m struggling to walk in a straight line — I didn’t mean to trample you, beautiful. Are you okay?”

“Beautiful doesn’t really speak English, but _I_ do. Right here. Hi.” Tony flashes a blatantly fake smile and gives the man a little wave. “Keep on walking into people and I’ll make _sure_ you’re as sorry as you say you are next time around, drunky.” Tony starts to lead you away, looking over his shoulder. “Her eyes are on her face, by the way. I don’t know where _you_ were looking for them.”

You let a smile creep onto your face, leaning into Tony’s touch and whispering once you’re out of earshot, “Ever the hero.”

“Obviously.” Tony lets his arm drop around your waist. You feel a small prick by your hip and, the next time Tony lifts his hand, it’s holding a tiny, beeping stud — the tracker that the man attempted to place on you. Tony claps it onto the back of an unsuspecting waiter nearby, who’s so startled that he almost drops his tray of croissants. “They know we’re here. Barton, tag the guy.”

“ _I already did — oh, signal just came in,”_ Clint confirms. “ _There’s a red dot moving around near the entrance.”_

“That’s him,” you breathe through gritted teeth. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you give me an ID, height, and weight?”

_“His name is David Roland. He’s a 34-year-old American who stands at 6’3” and weighs 204 pounds.”_

“Jesus,” Tony’s six-foot-one self mutters spitefully. “I’ll be damned if he’s not one of Klaue’s hunks. Banner, got anything else?”

_“Yeah, it’s weird. He sounds like a good man. He served in the navy, has a wife and kids, had a few part-time jobs and everything. How’d he end up with Klaue?”_

_“What matters is they’re here now,”_ Natasha says. _“And they’re not doing a very good job either. Two guys just tried to track Cap and I.”_

 _“I got them,”_ Clint answers. _“You guys have to hurry. I think Klaue’s going to the roof.”_

So he definitely knows you’re here. You and Tony pick up the pace, heading towards the back of the ballroom.

 _“Be careful, Barton,”_ Steve says. _“If he’s going to the roof, he’s headed for you.”_

_“Don’t worry. I can hold him off.”_

Suddenly, there’s the sound of something heavy crashing onto the floor, and it can only be from Bruce’s end. You and Tony glance at each other. It’s almost as if a door was just kicked down, which makes no sense; the motel room is off the grid, registered under a fake name. It’d be impossible to find him.

Unless they were followed.

Bruce coughs. _“What the hell_ — _”_

Bruce’s earpiece clatters harshly, and then comes a string of soft, inaudible words tinted with a Sokovian accent that sinks your stomach like a stone. It’s the twin that escaped from Strucker’s lab, which means his female counterpart is most likely there too; and if that’s true, tonight could become much more complicated than it has to be.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when the next thing to follow is a deafening roar, one loud and feral enough that it could belong to a lion or a bear — but you recognize it as that of the Hulk.

 _“Banner,”_ Natasha says, and her voice breaks a little. _“Bruce?”_

“Great,” Tony breathes. “So this is really happening right now.”

But Bruce is long gone, and the whole team knows it. You hear a horrible _crunch_ that brings a flinch across Tony’s face as Bruce’s earpiece is shattered to pieces.

It’s suddenly much harder to keep a straight face when you know the Hulk is loose in Paris.

 _“Tony,”_ Steve says. It helps to hear how composed he sounds despite all hell breaking loose a couple miles away. _“You gotta go.”_

“Thought so.” Tony sighs, looking wistfully as the bar just a couple yards away. He glances at you. “But we have to do something about my date.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

There are footsteps behind you. You’re surprised to see Steve come out of nowhere in all his Armani-decked, disheveled-hair glory, his arm brushing yours as he falls into step besides you.

“He could already be miles from the hotel by now,” Steve murmurs. “You said you’ve been preparing for this, right?”

“Veronica is really more of a joke than a form of preparation, but okay. I’ll make do.” Tony starts toward the entrance. “Keep her safe. Wish me luck.”

With that, he turns and disappears, weaving through the crowd. You see him raise his arms as he summons the parts of his suit from a satellite somewhere in the atmosphere. You imagine they’re already soaring towards him; he’ll be in the air in a minute tops.

“Where’s Nat?” You whisper. He holds out his arm and you rest your hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Already heading up,” he answers. “She told me to come get you. We have to go now.”

“Wait, Steve,” you whisper, a new thought occurring to you. “Is Ultron here too?”

“I don’t know,” Steve breathes, then corrects himself. “No. Not yet, anyway.”

 _“Guys, I see bodyguards,”_ Natasha’s voice comes through all of a sudden. _“There are four, maybe five. Klaue can’t be far ahead.”_

“Engage,” Steve says. “We’ll be there soon.”

You hear the chaos commence as Natasha proceeds to do what she does best; it has to be a scuffle of at least six people if it’s lasting this long.

“You got it, Tasha,” you breathe. “We’re — ”

The barrel of a gun digs into your back. A bullet clicks into place.

“‘Coming’?” An unfamiliar male voice snarls. “Not exactly, Ms. YL/N.”

You don’t dare look at Steve, but you can see he’s as off guard and surprised as you are. Your head hurts with the tornado of thoughts bombarding your brain: namely, _they know who you are, your cover is very blown,_ and _you’d have no problem taking them here and now if there weren’t hundreds of civilians in the room_. Your mind whirs, your heart hammering.

 _“Six down,”_ Natasha says, breathless. _“Where are you guys?”_

“Have some decency,” you breathe, dropping the accent. “Don’t do this here. Take it outside.”

“But that’s so much work, sweetheart,” a second voice says, loaded with contempt. “What’s stopping us from finishing the job here and now?”

They were so busy thinking up clever things to say, they didn’t notice Steve’s fingers emerge from his pocket. You manage a glance at Steve and catch the tiny nod he gives you. You brace yourself.

You drop straight down, swinging your leg around and placing a hard kick behind the first man’s knees; he pulls the trigger a second too late and the bullet sinks into the wall above you. Steve tosses his shield in the air and draws his arm back to throw the Pymn Particles disc; a warping sound and a sharp _whoosh_ later, he’s grabbing his full-sized shield from the air, the vibranium reflecting the chandelier light into your eyes. Screams and gasps are heard resonating through the hall, people scrambling to distance themselves from the scene. Steve sends the shield straight into the second man’s nose and floors him. You stand up, aiming one last kick at the man’s side. His groans fall silent. You strip both men of their guns and straighten back up, loading them both at your sides.

 _“Did I hear shots fired?_ ” Clint asks. _“What’s going on?”_

“Yes, but it’s been handled. Go,” you add to Steve, and he breaks into a run. You nearly do the same, but you look down at your dress and curse. “Damn it. God, I’m sorry about this, Tony.”

You kick your heels off into the corner, reaching behind you to unzip your dress. It takes a few seconds of ungraceful writhing before you finally slip out of it, folding it haphazardly and tossing it over your shoes. You pull up the straps of the layer you had underneath the whole time.

 _“Oh, great,”_ Clint says. _“I’m compromised.”_

A shower of bullets. Shouts in the background. Your stomach turns.

“Y/N — ” Steve starts.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, a very doubtable statement considering you’re now barefoot with only spandex shorts and a camisole on. You tighten your ponytail. “I’ll be _fine_ , Steve, go to Clint — ”

 _Bang_.

You immediately throw yourself out of the way of harm. Steve angles his shield so the bullet ricochets and hits the man in the shoulder, blood pooling against his white shirt, and you glimpse the face of Dave Roland before he hits the floor. There’s no time to triumph; there are more bodyguards behind him, and you count fourteen armed men who are now all taking guns out from holsters in their pants. The ballroom has nearly emptied itself, and you can deduce that the only people who remain are hostiles. Steve’s hand finds your wrist and he pulls you behind a wall, right beside the door to the stairwell. You fall against his chest and look up at him.

“I can handle them,” you whisper. “You need to go.”

“I’m not leaving you, Y/N.”

 _“I have a visual on Klaue!”_ Natasha shouts. _“I’m in pursuit. Does anyone copy?”_

“Klaue’s the destination, right? Like you said, don’t go out of your way.” You reach up, taking his shoulders. “I can do this, Steve. They need you more than I do.”

Steve falls silent, gaze locked with yours for a few moments of contemplative silence.  You hear a sound and drop your hands to your sides, peering around the corner and holding up the gun in your left hand. _Bang, bang, bang._ The two men closest to you hit the ground.

Steve sighs and starts undoing his gloves, pulling the leather off with his teeth. The shield slides off with it, the glove’s magnetic core keeping it attached. You give Steve a look that urges him to think this through. Apparently, he has. He hands it to you.

“It’s not much, but it’s something. The button on the pointer finger activates the magnet and brings the shield back to you. _Don’t_ ,” he adds once he sees you open your mouth, “argue, just take it. Ease my conscience.”

You can’t help the tiny smile that comes to your face. “You do know that if one of the baboons kill me, it won’t be because I don’t have your shield.”

“But if one of them do kill you, I’ll get to say I told you so.”

“They won’t kill me.”

“I thought I said not to argue.”

“I’m not _arguing_ , I’m just — ”

“Okay, okay. Stop there. We’ll talk about it later.”

Steve leans in, curling his hand around the nape of your neck and pressing his lips against your forehead. It doesn’t last very long, but it lingers behind when he pulls away.

“Good luck,” he says. With that, he pushes open the doors of the stairwell and disappears.

 _Shake it off,_ you think to yourself. _Save the daydreaming for later. You’ll have plenty of time after you handle this._

“ _Man_ ,” you say loudly enough for the bodyguards to hear, sliding on his gloves. They’re far too big for you, but you tighten the strap and decide it’ll work. “Talk about shitty security, huh?”

With that, you step out from behind the wall, eyes narrowed, shield at your side, gun in hand.

It all happens impossibly fast. Bullets spray into the air; ridiculous, considering they bounce off the shield like jelly beans against a wall. You continue forth until you’re within striking distance and grab the collar of the nearest man, ramming the shield into his face once before letting him drop to the floor; the second and third are felled by two swift kicks and an upper cut. A bullet is suddenly fired from behind you. You grit your teeth and jump clean over it. It hits another bodyguard with a dull _squelch_ and you turn to hurtle the shield in the firer’s direction, relishing in the loud _clang_ that follows and the _shing_ of the shield returning to its place on your glove.

“And to think, boys,” you mutter. You scan the area briefly before ducking behind the shield again. Seven down, seven more to go. “We could’ve done this the easy way.”

You sprint a couple steps, jump into the air, and draw your arm back. The last thing you see is a look of utter shock before you hurtle the shield as hard as you can; the vibranium disk ricochets off the first man and hits three more before you activate the magnet and knock out a fifth on its way back to you. A burst of pride goes off in your chest; the shield doesn’t obey the laws of physics at all, but you’re not complaining in the slightest.

You drop the shield on the ground and run. Your hands go to the sides of the first one’s head and you twist it sharply to the left; a harsh _crack_ emits as his neck snaps and hits the ground with a dull thud, his gun clattering away from him.

You turn slowly to the last man standing, the blood of his coworkers on your hands and face, your hair thrown everywhere and shield still glittering by your side.

He turns and runs. You pick up the gun on the floor and aim, closing one eye —

 _Bang._ Right in the back.

“Fourteen down,” you pant, looking around at the fourteen bodies lying unmoving on the floor. You dust your fingers over your ear to make sure the earpiece is still there. “I got them. How are things on your end?”

 _“Don’t let your guard down yet,”_ Clint huffs. _“We lost our visual on Klaue.”_

“What? He escaped?”

 _“I’m sure he’s trying to get out of here. Be careful. He has explosives,”_ Natasha instructs. _“Where are you?”_

You pick up the shield and start to walk towards the entrance of the building, prickles of anxiety going off inside you. “I’m going to go outside and see if anything’s out of place. I’ll let you know what I find.”

 _“Hey.”_ Your heart does a gross little flip at the sound of Steve’s voice. _“You got lucky.”_

You step over the bodies you floored, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The shield only helped a little bit.”

_“Right.”_

So suddenly that you have no time to comprehend the sight, a figure drops to the floor by the doorway: a scruffy, stout man with pale blue eyes and scars running all over his face like veins. Recognition hits you like a slap in the face. Your eyes widen at the small but formidable weapon he pulls out, glowing and tinting his face blue. You suddenly hear the uneven whir of an airship’s engine outside the building and realize that he’s holding the edge of a rope ladder in his hand.

“The Avengers’ newest recruit,” Ulysses Klaue calls. “So it’s true, what they say.”

You decide to humor him. “And what is that?”

“The prettiest ones,” he tsks, a terrible smile spreading from his ear to ear. “Always the biggest fools _.”_

He holds up the weapon, a high-pitched frequency getting louder as it loads. You have just enough time to hold the shield out, bracing yourself, and —

 _BOOM_.

Heat licks at your skin as the impact punches you in the chest, sending you flying ten feet into the air and hitting the back wall with a sickening _bam._ Pain shoots down your right arm and your face contorts into a flinch as you roughly fall to the floor on your back, bits of dust and soot fluttering onto your face as residue from the explosion. Something’s on fire a couple yards away. It must’ve been an explosive gun, probably an item out of his vibranium arsenal. Every part of your body hurts, but you manage to roll over onto your side, coughing the smoke out of your lungs.

You press a hand against the wall and tense every muscle in your body, hoisting yourself to your feet. You wince as you walk, hobbling towards the doors with the shield held in front of you. Warm blood trickles down the side of your face and you wipe it off hastily.

 _“Y/N,”_ Natasha says. _“Klaue is extremely dangerous. Do not engage alone. We’re coming._ ”

“Steve,” you rasp, groaning as you inch your way towards the doors. “Your gloves — do they attract anything made of vibranium?”

 _“Yes,”_ Steve answers. _“Y/N, don’t — ”_

You take out the earpiece and toss it away, knowing what you have to do. You fall on the door and it gives way under your weight, swinging open and depositing you onto the stone steps outside. You land on your back and turn your head to look at Klaue’s aircraft.

Then, you press the button on your other glove.

Klaue is just about to mount the rope ladder before he feels a sharp tug on his hand. He looks down only to see his weapon, very much made of vibranium, shivering in his grasp like some kind of invisible force is pulling on it. Before he knows what’s happening, the object is slipping from his fingertips and soaring away from him. His eyes expand to the size of saucers as he lets out a roar of _NO!_

The weapon clangs against the back of your glove. You take the weapon in your hand, giving the thing a once-over before locating the trigger. You hold it up, pointing it at the aircraft, sliding your finger into place —

“Hold it!” Klaue shouts over the sound of the ship. “I don’t have what you’re looking for anymore!”

You try to answer but find you’re losing strength startlingly quickly, your head throbbing as you lift yourself to your knees.

“You want it, you go find Ultron,” he continues. “And Strucker’s lab experiments.”

 _Of course_ the twins weren’t here just to fuck around with Bruce’s brain. You bitterly close your eyes at the prospect of Ultron’s new allies.

The doors burst open. Your three teammates explode from the building, a look of immense concern on Steve’s face when he sees the state you’re in on the floor. You shake your head violently, gesturing at them not to come any closer.

“Back up,” you command hoarsely. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“I swear it. I can’t help you,” Klaue continues. “Spare the ship. I’m just the dealer. Ultron is the one you want.”

The vibranium got away. He said it himself; he’s useless to you now. You roll your eyes, leaning against the pillar beside you.

In that case.

You lower your arm so it’s pointed directly at Klaue instead of his aircraft. Looking Klaue straight in the eyes, you let the smallest of smirks appear on your lips.

“Have fun dying at the hands of a fool, you scaly son of a bitch.”

You pull the trigger.

Klaue is cremated on the spot. The aircraft is blown to smithereens. Everything’s on fire. Among the smoke and dust, you let your hand drop, the shield and weapon clattering to the ground; and a shadow emerges from the chaos, dropping to your side and gently pulling you into his arms. Your head lolls against Steve’s lap as he cradles your head, blue eyes glinting with worry. You feel yourself slipping away. Your vision starts to darken.

The last thing you hear is Steve’s voice saying your name; once, twice, his voice cracking and volume rising. _Stay with me, Y/N. Please. Don’t do this to me. Come on._ You wish you could tell him you’re going to be okay, but you don’t get the chance; before you can even open your mouth, your whole body goes limp and the world goes dark.

  
  


 

 

 

**PRESENT DAY. ON THE QUINJET, SOMEWHERE IN THE AIR, 6:02.**

 

_“So who is taking responsibility? The Avengers definitely aren’t, and suddenly the previously adored team of U.S.A.-based heros are facing heavy backlash for recent events at a charity ball two nights ago in Paris, France. Warrants for Dr. Bruce Banner’s arrest are in the air, since it was Banner’s alter-ego that we know as the Hulk who tore through Paris and caused unimaginable damage to the city structure.”_

You sigh, wrapping your blanket tighter around your shoulders. The glass is cool against your temple as you lean against it, looking out into the sprawling sea of clouds that the Quinjet sails through. It’s been a day, and it’s still all any of the news sites are talking about; then again, it’s about explosions, Paris, and the Avengers, which could just be the media’s three favorite topics. Who knows if they’ll ever shut up?

You’re not sure how long you slept for, but you feel rejuvenated enough to enjoy the sunrise. You’ll never get tired looking at the view from the window of a Quinjet. It’s beautiful and quiet, a combination you don’t get often these days; now if only everything else wasn’t so messed up. Despite the whole team getting out of Paris alive, there’s not a doubt in your mind that recovery time is very much needed; facing the world’s repercussions and going after Ultron will have to wait.

_“In other news, a new face was seen allying with the Avengers in Paris. Nicknamed ‘Hellfire’ because of her red dress and astounding skill in combat, the addition to the team has been identified as someone by the name of Y/N Y/L/N. However, it is predicted that she died while on duty, as witnesses recall the second explosion of the night being so large that it must’ve taken out everything within a mile radius. If this is true, we’ve yet to discover how many Avengers died yesterday and how many remain.”_

So Hellfire is what they’re calling you now. It’s not bad at all; a little aggressive for your taste, but very intimidating. Even you’d be a little scared of yourself.

_“It’s incredible, Jan. This could be the plot of a damn movie. Not only were the Avengers there, but two more enhanced individuals were spotted at the gala the same night: allegedly one with superspeed, and the other able to manipulate some kind of red energy — ”_

The news reporter starts to detail the Maximoff twins when the monitor shuts off. In your peripheral vision, you see a hand set the remote down to the side after turning off the TV.

“Hellfire,” a deep, accented voice that you haven’t heard in too long says. “It suits you.”

Two figures have just walked into the room, and the sight of them alone is enough to bring a smile to your face: Steve, his dark tee and gray sweatpants doing everything to accentuate his body proportions, and next to him is —

“Thor?” You unfold your legs, swinging them off the edge to try and stand up. “What are you — ”

“No, please, sit down,” Thor says, walking until he’s right next to you. He’s all suited up with his cape on and Mjolnir in his hand. “So I leave for a couple days and you almost die, I hear?”

“Did you squeal?” You say to Steve, and he jokingly puts his hands up. “That depends on how you define almost dying.”

“No matter, as long as you’re still alive and present.” Thor smiles. “Plus, I can only imagine the wrath you brought upon whatever poor soul it was that tried killed you.”

“Blew him to hell,” Steve says. “Not even a shadow left.”

“I expected nothing less.” Thor puts a hand on your head affectionately. “You have always had a knack for the incredibly violent.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly aware of something new. “Are you wet?”

“I was just telling the captain that I’ve returned from seeing Erik Selvig and asking him about a dream I had,” Thor says. “I think the team will find that the discovery I made is more important than I could’ve imagined — oh, I got in a pool of sorts. It’s a couple of centuries old.”

One look at your facial expression elicits a chuckle from Thor. He sweeps his cape behind him, dropping to kneel beside you so you’re now eye to eye.

“Well, you don’t smell the best,” you say, a playful glint in your eyes. “You guys shower in Asgard, right?”

“Yes, yes. That’ll be my next stop. I just needed to check in on you first,” he says, reaching up to touch your cheek. “I’m truly sorry I couldn’t be there to help, Y/N.”

You smile at this. Thor continues to surprise you every day with his kindness and friendship, and you don’t think you can truly vocalize how grateful for him you are.

“I forgive you,” you say quietly. “I found a replacement babysitter, after all.”

At this, you look over Thor’s shoulder at the super soldier leaning against the wall with arms folded over his chest. Steve chuckles quietly, shaking his head. Thor looks between the two of you and stands back up.

“I’m off to the shower then,” Thor says. “Will you be able to prevent life-threatening events until I come back, Captain?”

“Yes, Thor,” Steve answers. “I promise.”

“Good.”

Thor gives Steve a polite nod and you a wink before walking out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving you and Steve very much alone for the first time in a long time. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re wearing an old, frayed hoodie of Tony’s and some pants that Natasha cut the cuffs off to fit better while he’s still as stunning as ever, but what the hell else is new? You’re tired of Steve and his unadulterated good looks.

“You’re up early,” you say, hugging your knees to your chest to make room for him across from you.

“Thor isn’t the only surprise I have for you.” Steve hands you a plastic bag as he takes a seat next to you. “Nat said they’re your favorite. You could use some comfort food right now.”

“You’re kidding. Could it be?” You breathe, opening the paper bag, and the grin that spreads across your face could light up an entire city. You take out the donut on the top of the pile, true emotion shining in your eyes. “And it could be indeed! God, you have no idea how much I needed this right now. Thank you.”

“Of course. Consider it on behalf of the entire team.”

You sink your teeth into the sweet treat and lean your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as you drown in the euphoric taste of donut.

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers together. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you say, accidentally dropping a few crumbs on the blanket. Steve’s eyebrows raise and you brush it off nonchalantly. “Really. I had the best sleep of my life.”

“That’s good to hear,” he answers. “Clint’s taking us to a safehouse for a little while. We all need some time to collect ourselves before getting back out there, and you can’t exert yourself more than your body can handle right now.”

You nearly start to say _no, I’m fine_ , but the words are just so untrue that you stop yourself before you can. You believe Steve knows what’s best for the team and what’s best for you; maybe you should sit this next one out, at least until you can walk without your legs wanting to give out. Steve’s expression is one that doesn’t have a name, but you have a feeling you know exactly what’s going through his mind.

You take another large bite, your next question muffled as you chew. “What’s that face?”

He averts his eyes, toying with his hands as he tries to fathom the words to say.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he begins, “but I can’t help wondering what happened — what could’ve been _avoided_ — if I stayed with you.”

You swallow the bite, your face falling. “Steve.”

“Yesterday, when the Maximoff girl got to Bruce and Tony left — I was responsible for whatever happened to us, and the fact that it was _you_ who almost died on my watch — ” He cuts himself off and exhales deeply, shaking his head. “It’s not an issue of whether you’re capable of protecting yourself, because you are, undoubtedly. It’s an issue that I was willing to let you do it alone.”

Of course Steve blames himself. He sure as hell won’t blame it on you, even if he should. You lift your back off the wall to sit straight.

“Steve,” you start. “You possess this ridiculous sense of selflessness, which is something that I love about you, but you can’t possibly think that any of this is your fault. You saved my life by giving me your shield. I should be thanking you, not listening to you apologize. Come on, I fired an explosive into a running aircraft! I knew what I was getting myself into.”

Steve doesn’t look like he believes you at all, but he decides not to push it.

“Somehow, I have a hard time believing I’m the selfless one between the two of us,” he says.

“You know what? I agree,” you reply, “because I was about to offer you a donut before you went all theatrical on me, and I sure as hell don’t do that often.”

Steve lets out a huff of laughter, and the sound and sight of it melts your heart a little.

“Here, let me put it this way. If it wasn’t for you, you and I would be having a very different conversation right now,” you say. “By that, I mean no conversation at all, because I would be dead.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s really not funny.”

You smile. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not at all, but it’s good to see you like this.” The smallest flinch appears on his face as if the memory pains him to relive. “Compared to you lying unconscious among the residue of an explosion — I really thought for a second I’d never get to see that smile again. Or you covered in donut crumbs.”

You laugh, dusting off your hands and setting the donut aside. Steve’s heart skips a beat when you reach out to touch the curve of his cheek.

“Hey,” you say quietly. He looks at you, his eyes so incredibly blue that they remind you of the sky outside, and you run your thumb gently over the hill of his cheekbone. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s okay now. I’m okay.”

“I know,” he answers, “but people I love tend to leave, and what happened in Paris came too damn close.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your mind focused on a particular choice of words that has your heart hammering and head spinning. Steve’s gaze is contemplative yet warm, and he curls his hand around your wrist, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your palm.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe I love you.”

 _When did you get so close to him?_ You can feel his warmth from where you sit, can count every one of his eyelashes if you wanted to; and when you meet his eyes, you feel it in full force: _sparks_ , fervent and electric ones that coarse through every vein in your body and sweep you off your feet. It’s his turn to bring his hand to your cheek, his tongue grazing over his lips.

“The last time I felt this way about anyone, I lost her for a very long time,” he breathes. “I don’t know what I’d do if history repeats itself.”

“Honestly,” you say, your heart going a mile a minute, “I don’t think I can make any promises, Rogers.”

He smiles, and you’re reminded briefly of the rays of sun outside before the tip of his nose brushes yours, and all you can see is the blue of his eyes centimeters away.

“I guessed as much,” he whispers. “It was worth a shot.”

And then you’re kissing.

It starts out slow, but then his tongue runs against your lower lip, the ground disappears beneath your feet, and it becomes everything you imagined it would be and more. It’s his hands sliding to the small of your back and your fingers curling through his hair; his lips curving into a smile because you taste like icing; gentle sighs as you run your hands down his chest; eyelashes to skin, mouth to mouth, body to body, and the kiss very nearly burns from months’ worth of buildup — but in the best way possible.

Even when it’s over, your whole body feels lighter than it’s ever been, your head spinning from euphoria. Your chest rises and falls, the two of you breathing in sync, trying to catch your breath; you cradle Steve’s head in your hands, leaning your forehead against his when he parts his lips to speak.

"By the way,” he murmurs, and you’re entirely flustered by the way his voice has dropped an octave. “The whole world thinks you’re dead.”

You nearly roll your eyes. “Go on,” you say, exasperated. “Get it over with.”

The last thing you see is laughter in his eyes before his arm circles around your waist; he pulls you into his lap to kiss you again, mumbling four words against your lips.

“I told you so, Y/N.”

And you whisper, so quietly he just barely hears it: “I love you too, Steve.”

 

___________________

 

Natasha lets go of the door handle before she makes the mistake of opening it, deciding to use the other bathroom after hearing a snippet of the dialogue coming from inside. _God_ , she thinks to herself, turning around and shaking her head. _Leave it to Steve Rogers to make a move only after you almost blow yourself up._


End file.
